With three-fourths of the campus away this term, the potential for hook-ups has been mighty slim. This is not to mention that the normal outlets we inventive Dartmouth students often use to channel our excess libido have also been closed off, because Greek organizations are unable to register parties that involve alcohol as the majority of campus is underage. Chi Gam dance parties, AD black light parties and even alternatively hip social scenes, like Panarchy's Gatsby, just haven't had quite the same make out potential to them as in other terms, what with Safety and Security constantly monitoring and alcohol being less available as a social lubricant. (You're our last and only hope, Heaven and Hell!)
So what has this lack of anonymity and alcohol meant for the Dartmouth Hook-Up Scene? One word wifing.
You've seen it. The blatant canoodling on Collis porch, the walking hand-in-hand to class, the flitzing during Astro romance is in the air, and the Dartmouth hook-up culture just doesn't know what do with itself.
One thing's for sure though Dartmouth's hook-up diehards are going to resist calling it "dating" as long as possible, because, I mean, in all seriousness, don't you have an off-term soon anyway? But don't you worry, all you true serial monogamists out there I got yo' back! I'm not going to let these newfound lovebirds off the hook that easy I'm going to label this phenomenon. And I'm going to label it "wifing."
Now before you start getting ahead of yourself, I am not advocating matrimony! Wifing is simply the act of hanging with your main squeeze, or "wifey," instead your homeboys. Essentially, it's rather simple logic: "hoes before bros."Example:Unidentified Bro calling recently hitched Bro: "Yo, Bro! Wanna hang out tonight and be bros?"Recently hitched Bro: "Naw, dawg. I'm hanging out tonight with the wifey."Unidentified Bro calling recently hitched Bro.: "Aw, naw dawg. That's coo'."Unidentified Bro to room full of unidentified bros: "Hitched Bro is pansying out tonight to be with his woman."Sighs emanate from all the bros in the room.
And this, my young neophyte, is the subtle art of wifing. To paraphrase my man, T.I., "You can call it whatever you like," but regardless of whether it's wifing, hooking up exclusively, or making sweet, sweet love it's still some form or variation of dare I say it dating. Give it whatever nomenclature you desire, but perhaps for the sake of this article and the sanity of its writer, "wifing" is sweeping across campus taking all the single people in its path and wifing them like...woah.
Perhaps the reason for all this budding romance is because there are so few of us and "hitting it and beating it" simply wouldn't make logistical sense. Ignoring one person amidst 3,000-4,000 other warm, virile bodies isn't so much of a challenge, but ignoring somebody amid a sparsely populated campus of 1,000 or so people with only two on-campus dining options available presents much more of a challenge. Almost as difficult as a late night skinny dip in the river sans "Peeping Tom" S&S officers lurking in the bush, one could argue.
But I'd like to believe that this X-Factor-free term of summer lovin' is more than just bare-boned semantics, and that my aging ass won't be dropped like a hot potato come fall when all the young, hot '13s arrive eager to wife-up. I'm probably letting the excess Vitamin D my body has absorbed this term get the better of me, but I'd like to embrace my inner positivity and believe that this recent development of wifing on the Dartmouth dating scene is more lasting than the fleeting rays of summer.
My generally snarky, pessimistic self is allowing one opportunity to believe in the potential of these summer-forged relationships instead of immediately dismissing them as hormone-driven trysts, and I wonder if that oft tossed-about "maturity card" might finally be materializing. Because I don't think I'm being overly dramatic when I say we've all grown, or "matured," in some way this term.
With off-terms, bigwig internships, academic pursuits and life in general looming over head as we end this summer as rising juniors, I am, perhaps, being too optimistic of the lasting quality of summer term relationships as I myself am about to have wild, promiscuous sex at the close of this article. But I think I am safe to say that some of the odd couplings of our friends we have witnessed the past few months might just have some type of endearing, lasting quality to them. I mean, after all, someone has to buy the Dartmouth baby gear at the Co-op.
